Fearless
by Bob Lobster
Summary: Ranma/Daredevil Fussion - Ranma Saotome was blinded in an accident, but how has this affected his other senses


Fearless  
A Ranma Crossover  
By: Bob Lobster  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters within. Now lemme alone  
and read the story.  
  
Chapter 1: Death  
  
They say that everyone has a story to tell. Some good, some bad; some  
heroic epics, others dull soliloquies. My story has been called one of  
the stranger tales to be told. It starts simply enough, a journey, a  
teary goodbye as a son leaves a mother, a husband leaves a wife and  
the training of a warrior begins. But that isn't the beginning, not  
really. The true beginning happens some years later, when father and  
son, master and student, part and the true journey begins.  
  
It starts on a street corner in downtown New York.  
  
**********************************************************  
  
The street isn't unusual in the least: cars travel down it; people  
cross it, and nearing the corner a young boy wanders aimlessly down  
it. He is fairly small, being only twelve years of age he has a while  
yet before he hits any significant growth spurts and begins to fill  
out, leaving a scrawny kid, short but strong looking with long black  
hair pulled back into a loose ponytail. He is dressed in a dirty white  
training dogi that looks as if it has seen better days and his eyes  
are searching from one place to another, never resting on any one  
thing for long, as if he has never seen a city before. That  
observation in itself was partially true as, although he has been in  
cities before, none that he can remember were ever quite so large and  
crowded as the metropolis he is in now. It makes him both nervous and  
excited to be in a city so grand as he takes in the sights but at the  
same time has to be careful not to let the claustrophobic feelings  
overwhelm him from all the people around him.  
  
Truthfully he would much prefer to be with his father right now,  
wandering the wilds, training to be the greatest warrior of all, but  
his training is exactly the reason they are in this city in the first  
place. His father had recalled mention of a man from his own travels  
who was said to be an exceptional martial artist, one who would only  
take on certain select students, one who resided right here in New  
York. Unfortunately their search had come up empty for long enough  
that funds had run short and his father was somewhat reluctant to  
begin using his more underhanded methods of obtaining funds in such a  
large city. In smaller towns as long as you can get out of town  
without anybody realizing who you are then you're usually safe. In a  
town of this size, however, the police are a great deal better funded  
and any crimes you commit are more likely to follow you wherever you  
go. So, his father had entered a somewhat more legitimate business,  
that of a prizefighter. With his uncanny martial arts ability his  
father had quite quickly made a name for himself as an unbeatable  
fighter, thus drawing larger crowds and making more money for the two  
of them to survive on, enough really to keep them going for quite a  
while to come.  
  
So it was then, that his father had asked him to go take a bit of  
a walk while he negotiated with the bookie for his latest pay. Which  
was why he was walking alone down a crowded street in downtown New  
York at the tender age of twelve. His wandering attention causes his  
eyes to rest momentarily on an old man crossing the street rather  
slowly. His attention immediately shifts once again, this time to the  
lights telling the man that it was alright to cross, and then to all  
the other people who are just finishing crossing in front of the man.  
This scene strikes him as slightly odd, as the old man is obviously  
having trouble crossing and yet nobody seems to be offering to help  
him, something unheard of to someone raised under the ideal that one  
must always help those who couldn't help themselves. He chalks it up  
quickly however to just another thing he didn't understand in a city  
full of things he didn't understand, and quickly moves towards the  
intersection in order to offer his aid to the man.  
  
He is about halfway to the intersection when a noise to his left  
catches his attention. Glancing over in the direction he catches sight  
of a rather large truck heading towards the same intersection to which  
he was headed. The speed with which the truck was moving severely  
alarms the boy as there is no way it could stop in time to avoid  
hitting the man who had yet to even notice his danger. Picking up  
speed the boy sprints as fast as his little legs can take him towards  
the man, trying to out run death as the truck barrels down on him. He  
reaches the intersection just in time and without a second thought  
dives out at the old man, his father's words echoing in his mind,  
"It's a martial artists duty to protect the weak. You must always  
protect those that can't protect themselves."  
  
**********************************************************  
  
Joe Marsh has lived a good life, or at least he likes to believe  
so. He is always polite and kind to others, he gives to charities  
whenever he can and he even tries to volunteer whenever he has time  
for whatever cause needs him. He can't understand why it was then that  
he seems to be being punished for some reason. He had a beautiful wife  
who had died last fall from cancer; a wonderful job which he was laid  
off from because he was "too old"; and his only son won't talk to him  
because of a stupid argument they had after his wife's funeral. Not  
only that, he has recently hurt his leg in a small accident, making  
even the simple task of walking a chore and the kind citizens of this  
city seemed content to watch him struggle rather than help him with  
what should be the relatively simple task of crossing the street. He  
is just about across said road when he feels a sudden, strong push  
from behind, sending him flying rather unceremoniously onto his hands  
and knees on the hard pavement. He is about to turn around and give  
whoever had shoved him a piece of his mind when the crash of a vehicle  
sounds behind him, shocking him out of his anger and causing him to  
turn over and view the carnage to his back.  
  
The scene was bad, the truck has swerved to avoid him and rolled  
onto its side, spilling whatever it had been carrying all over the  
road. The boy who had pushed him out of the way has been luckily  
missed by the truck itself, the content of said truck, however, was  
another story altogether. The site was enough to leave an impression  
on Joe that will stay with him to his dieing day.  
  
**********************************************************  
  
He feels a moment of satisfaction as the man flies harmlessly out  
of the way of the truck before the barrel strikes him out of the air.  
He has a second to realize that the truck has missed him as well and  
to know that he'll survive, regardless of his reckless bravery, before  
he hits the ground hard, not having enough presence of mind to roll  
with the landing as his father had taught him so many times. Time  
seems to slow down as he sees the barrel that had struck him hit the  
pavement hard, breaking open and spilling its thick brown liquid  
contents over the street and himself. His first thought is that the  
liquid is actually rather warm, before the pain strikes his eyes and  
face and he screams out in his high, child's voice. He hears his  
father calling his name and tries to answer, but it all seemed to be  
through a haze.  
  
"Ranma!" His father yells, as he feels the large man reach his  
side.  
  
"Papa, my eyes. It hurts!"  
  
"My god, did you see that."  
  
"Oh Christ, his face."  
  
"...hurts, papa, it hurts..."  
  
"Someone call an ambulance!"  
  
"...pushed that man out of the way."  
  
"Don't worry Ranma, it'll be alright. I promise, it'll be  
alright." He feels his father hold him close, feels hot tears on his  
face, wondering briefly whether they were his or his father's, before  
consciousness finely leaves him and the peace of slumber claims him.  
  
**********************************************************  
  
When consciousness reaches him once more he finds himself in the  
thralls of agony. Pieces of sandpaper rake across his skin, leaving it  
raw. No, not sandpaper, sheets, heavily starched sheets. Odors assault  
him from all sides, buckets of sweat poured in every part of the room  
he is in, thickening the air in a heavy oppressive fog. The bitter  
tang of disinfectants hangs in the air. The smell is familiar, if much  
stronger, more nauseating then he recalls, and he finds himself  
realizing that he is in a hospital. That thought is driven from him as  
they begin to shove needles in him, pumping him full of drugs, useless  
drugs, drugs that can't seem to mask the pain as they cut his face.  
  
He wants to scream out, he wants to cry, he wants to yell at them  
to stop, to leave him alone, to make the pain go away. His body  
doesn't work though, all he can do is lay there and try not to go mad.  
  
  
He wishes it would just end.  
  
He wants to die.  
  
**********************************************************  
  
"RANMA. CAN YOU HEAR ME?"  
  
*How can I not hear you when you yell like that?*  
  
"THE DOCTORS SAY YOU'RE GONNA BE ALRIGHT, SON. YOUR FACE, THEY  
FIXED IT UP REALLY WELL."  
  
*Please, oh please be quiet. So loud, why does everyone have to  
speak so loud?*  
  
"I'M GONNA GO NOW SON, YOU GET SOME REST."  
  
*I'd get better rest if everyone could just be quiet.*  
  
But they're not quite. Every sound echoes in his head like the  
bang of a steel drum and he finds himself wishing he could shut all  
sound out. He hears people arguing outside his room, down the hall, on  
the next floor, and it sounds like they are in there with him,  
screaming in his ears. He tries to cover his ears, but that just sends  
waves of pain shooting through him so, moaning, he lets his arms fall  
back to the bed and prays for help, prays for answers and  
explanations, prays for relief.  
  
**********************************************************  
  
His father doesn't understand. He tries to tell him what he feels,  
tries to tell him about the smells and the sounds and the sensations  
but he doesn't listen. His father just cries, though it's supposed to  
be unmanly, and tells him how sorry he is. He tells him that he should  
have been there, that he shouldn't have let him wander off, that he  
should never have brought him to such a god forsaken city. But he  
doesn't listen, he doesn't understand. No one understands. He's alone,  
alone and afraid. Afraid of what he hears, afraid of what he smells,  
afraid of what he feels, and most of all afraid of himself. And afraid  
to be alone, but he is alone, because no one understands.  
  
**********************************************************  
  
He lays there on his bed, as he's done for the past days and tries to  
shut out the noise, the incessant yelling, screaming in his ears; he  
tries to ignore the smell of the doctors and the nurses as they walk  
by and check on him in clothing they can't have washed in years; he  
just tries to sleep when a new sound reaches his ears. Soft footsteps  
travel up the hallway and end at his door, a wave of sweet smelling  
perfume hits him: Jasmine, he thinks and he wonders who this person  
could be, this person who doesn't assault him with foul smells and  
harsh sounds. She walks in to his room, and now he's sure it's a  
woman, no man could smell that sweet, and gently closes the door  
before making her way to his bed. She sits softly in the chair beside  
him and takes his hand in hers, soft and gentle, and whispers in his  
ear.  
  
"Hello little one. How do you feel?" She speaks softly, her voice  
flitting across his senses like a summer breeze, quiet and refreshing.  
He immediately feels better just being around her. Calmer, more alive  
than he has in days.  
  
"It...it hurts." He answers her truthfully. He knows that his father  
always said that admitting pain was admitting defeat and no Saotome  
ever admitted defeat, but a lot of his beliefs were being proven wrong  
these days, so this one could be too. After all, if his father could  
cry, couldn't he tell a kind lady the truth.  
  
"What hurts, son? You can tell me." She doesn't push, and to him she  
doesn't seem to be prying. She seems to genuinely want to help him, so  
he opens up to her. He tells her all the things that have been  
happening to him. The pain that raged through him after the accident,  
the way every sound seems magnified a thousand-fold, how he can smell  
things from hundreds of meters away, how everything he touches seems  
to have a greater depth than it once did. He begs her to make it all  
go away, to make it stop and let him be normal again. She doesn't  
answer right away though, instead she leans over him and kisses him  
gently on his forehead.  
  
"Ranma," She quietly begins, "You mustn't think of this as a curse.  
This is a blessing in disguise. So much greatness you can do with a  
gift like this, if only you allow yourself to learn to use it. But you  
must promise me something. You must not tell anyone else of this, not  
even your father. No one will understand it, and it will cause you  
great trouble if you tell people. Can you promise me this, dear?"  
  
"I...I promise. I already know...that people don't understand." Ranma  
sniffs a bit at this, but the lady leans down and puts a comforting  
hand on his forehead. Ranma smiles a bit, the first smile he has had  
in days, and reaches out to her only to feel something hanging off of  
her neck. He feels a cross on a chain, a cross made of gold.  
  
The woman then kisses his forehead once more and stands up. He can  
almost feel her sad smile as she looks down upon him for a moment  
before she turns and walks out the door. As she leaves, Ranma suddenly  
feels stronger than he has since the accident. He no longer wants to  
die.  
  
He will live  
**********************************************************  
  
The days continue on and Ranma is eventually released from the  
hospital under the condition that he takes it easy for a while to  
recover. He is told that the doctors have done a great job and that he  
will suffer no permanent damage to his face, that he won't even have  
any scars. But his eyes will never heal. He'll be blind for life.  
  
The soft-spoken woman never returns but it doesn't matter, she's  
already done more than anyone could. He will live. He will continue  
with his life. He will be the best, as he was going to be before the  
accident.  
  
His father no longer pushes him like he used to. He still tries to  
teach him as much as he can, but they both become frustrated more  
easily than they used to and give up more quickly. Despite his  
determination, the lack of results begins to wear on him. For a boy  
who used to learn faster than anyone should, to learn so slowly is  
agony. For someone who only had to see a move to copy it, how does one  
deal with not being able to see moves anymore. Not even his new senses  
seem to help, they only confuse him as things seem to focus at one  
moment only to be distracted by some distant sound or smell and  
suddenly he is lost again.  
  
He sits on the balcony on his father and his small apartment listening  
to a lovers spat three blocks over, attempting to recognize the music  
being played in the school yard two streets down and trying  
desperately to tune out the conversation going on behind him as his  
father discusses his next "job". He's known for quite sometime now  
that his father does these little jobs for the local mob, collecting  
money from people who owe them and "convincing" those who don't have  
the money to pay. He knows why his father does it, fighting doesn't  
pay as well as it once did and the hospital bills drained their  
savings. Genma "The Devil" Saotome just doesn't draw in the crowds so  
much anymore. He hasn't lost in two years of fighting and no one  
believes he will. Who wants to see a slaughter, and no one can field a  
fighter that can stand against him. So he does these jobs, hiding his  
shame from his son. But Ranma is proud of him regardless, proud of how  
strong he is, how he keeps going regardless of the troubles they have  
seen, proud of how he bears all the trouble himself. He only wishes  
they could go home. He may love his father, but he really wishes that  
he had his mother around.  
  
As he sits there, feeling the nearly non-existent breeze and trying to  
block out the sounds of the couple who are now "making up" he decides  
that he can't stay here any longer. The gym, he wants to go to the  
gym. He always loved the gym, where he and his father used to train,  
where they still do when they can, when neither of them are feeling to  
frustrated by his lack of success. He used to go to the gym whenever  
he was feeling down and just work on the bag; whenever the shouts of  
the children became too much, as they called out that horrible  
nickname they gave him, as the girls laughed and the boys shouted out  
at him "Daredevil! Daredevil! Daredevil!" he would hit the bag as he  
couldn't hit them and wish he could be home again, where he was sure a  
loving mother would be waiting for him.  
  
Yes, the gym, that's where he'll go.  
  
**********************************************************  
  
He lifts himself up once again and takes up a forward stance. He  
begins. The form is sloppy, a form he once thought he could do  
blindfolded he now finds that, put to the test, he has more trouble  
with than the new forms his father was teaching him before the  
accident. He throws out another punch and then twists around, throwing  
himself into a jumping spin kick, only to misjudge the position of a  
pile of mats and end up on his face on the ground. Pushing himself to  
his hands and knees he tries to control the tear that form in his  
eyes, tries to stop the frustration and anger from forming, but it is  
too late as he begins to sob, tears beading in his eyes and falling to  
the mats below his as the pent up feelings flow out of him. So wrapped  
up is he that he doesn't notice the man standing on the other side of  
the room from him. He doesn't hear the soft breathing or the gentle  
beating of the man's heart. All he knows is the floor and his sorrow.  
  
"Well, what are you waiting for? Get up, try again." He spins around  
at the sound of the gravelly voice, hard and seemingly devoid of  
emotion. He easily recognizes all the signs of there being another  
person in the room with him now, now that he is more focused and he  
berates himself for letting anyone sneak up on him. The man before him  
is silent though, and he realizes why he had missed him. Even knowing  
that there is someone there Ranma still has trouble spotting where he  
is. His breathing is almost silent and even his heart seems to beat  
more quietly than most, something that Ranma just can't figure out.  
Ranma gets to his feet and faces the direction he is now sure the man  
is in.  
  
"Who are you?" He asks timidly, wondering who could possibly be so  
quiet. The man doesn't answer right away though, just continues to  
stand there, breathing softly. He is beginning to become impatient  
when the man finally speaks.  
  
"My name is Stick." The man says quietly, and Ranma hears him begin to  
walk forward, quiet as a faint breeze. He briefly wonders about the  
name, wondering who would take a name like Stick, as it obviously  
wasn't given to the man by his parents, before Stick speaks again.  
"And from now on, I'll be your Master."  
  
**********************************************************  
  
Stick takes him to a broken down basement, large and dusty and packed  
high with garbage. Ranma walks in, reluctantly following the man who  
has declared him his student as Stick once more begins to speak.  
  
"While you're with me you won't be belly-aching about your blindness.  
I've been blind all my life, growing up on the street, so I won't hear  
any of your bitching." Stick walks up to him once more and just stands  
for a moment, as of letting that sink in before continuing. "You'll  
spend every spare moment here, learning what I can teach you and, if  
you're good enough, I'll make you a warrior. It won't be easy, you  
have discipline, I'll give you that, but the accident has made you  
weak. You'll get over that, or you'll fail."  
  
He stands there for a moment, absorbing everything that Stick has said  
before responding in a slightly unsure voice. "Why...why are you  
helping me?"  
  
"Because we need help. And hopefully you'll provide." Stick sighs a  
bit at this but continues to stand there, next to Ranma, thinking  
things over a bit.  
  
"Help?" Ranma repeats confusedly, "What kind of help?"  
  
"Enough questions, boy, time to train. Hold your hands out before you.  
I want you to feel the air." Ranma does as he is told and holds his  
hands out, stretching his arms so that they are straight at the elbows  
and walking around like he is trying to feel his way. He remains  
confused by the man's words though and so speaks up again.  
  
"But...there's no wind."  
  
"Not the wind, boy, the air. The air is all around you, it fills up  
all the space surrounding us. Feel it. There is a wall in front of  
you, feel the distance between you and the wall in the air. Turn  
around, there is another wall there, a little closer than the last,  
feel it." Ranma again does as he is told, turning around in circles,  
trying to feel the walls through the air but he quickly comes to the  
conclusion that his "master" is either making things up or crazy,  
however he tries to ask again what he means exactly.  
  
"But there's nothing there." He states with conviction. This statement  
quickly earns him a blow to the side of the head, which rocks him  
slightly on his feet. The strike isn't as hard as some of the hits he  
has taken during sparring with his father but it's certainly enough to  
make him take notice.  
  
"Can you feel that?" Stick grounds out, as Ranma rubs the spot he had  
struck and yells out at him.  
  
"What did ya do that for?!?" Rather than an answer, he receives  
Stick's cane to the top of his head. Grunting in a bit of pain Ranma  
swings his own cane in front of him in an attempt at retaliation but  
it only finds air and he gains another hit to the side of the head as  
a response. Again he swings, and again he is struck. This continues on  
for several more hits until finally he raises his own cane just in  
time and he feels the vibrations, hears the telltale "thunk" of wood  
on wood and realizes that he actually managed to block a swing. More  
than a little surprised, Ranma just stands there for a moment before  
he manages to say anything.  
  
"How...how did I do that?" He asks in wonder. Stick just lowers his  
arm and snorts a bit.  
  
"Don't get cocky, boy, that was just the first step. You have a long  
road ahead."  
  
**********************************************************  
  
Days pass, weeks, months and true to Stick's word, he's there everyday  
to train Ranma in his new senses. Genma is proud to see a marked  
improvement in his son's skills as grace returns to his form and he  
even begins to pick up the new techniques Genma wishes to teach him  
with some of his old speed. All the while Ranma trains with a  
determination he hasn't seen before.  
  
One day, stick comes to him and asks him to identify what he is  
holding. Ranma listens for a moment at the sounds the object makes in  
Sticks hands, giving his analysis as Stick waits.  
  
"Cord being stretched, wood creaking, some sort of leather...no,  
catgut. A bow. You're holding a bow." He thinks about that for a few  
moments before voicing the next most obvious question. "What the hell  
are two blind me supposed to do with a bow?"  
  
"This." Stick responds before Ranma hears the bowstring drawn back,  
feels the arrow notched in it and listens as Stick lets the arrow fly.  
A loud thunk signals the end of the arrows flight and he sends out his  
senses, feeling the target and where the arrow lays, dead in the  
centre. Stick then draws back and lets two more arrows follow the  
first to group themselves with the first at the centre of the target.  
Ranma allows his eyes to widen slightly in appreciation for the skill  
shown by his mentor before realizing that the man would obviously want  
him to show the same skill before too long. Resisting the urge to sigh  
dramatically, he accepts the bow from Stick and notches an arrow,  
easily pulling the heavy string back.  
  
"Feel the target. Feel its shape, feel where you want the arrow to go,  
and then send it there." Sticks words wash over him as he tries to  
carefully aim the bow. Releasing the arrow, he awaits the sound of it  
hitting the wood of the target. He is suitably disappointed therefore  
when he hears the window well above the target shatter as his arrow  
passes through it. Stick sighs, the sound of long suffering, and tells  
him to try again.  
  
Another arrow flies, a little closer this time, bouncing off the wall  
instead of hitting the window above. This is followed by another, then  
another and another after that. Time passes and he sends arrow after  
arrow at the wooden target until his arms shake from exhaustion, but  
still he keeps trying. Finally he is rewarded as he hears the sound of  
arrow piercing wood and senses his arrow striking the bottom corner of  
the target. Jumping in the air he shouts out in joy before turning  
towards his master.  
  
"Anyone can hit it once. Do it again." Is Sticks only response, but  
Ranma can feel the slight smile on his face as he notches another  
arrow. Again he begins the grueling attempts at archery, and he keeps  
at it, hope renewed by his success until he can hit the target every  
time.  
  
**********************************************************  
  
Over time his aim increases to the point where he can, not only hit  
the target, but hit the bulls-eye every time and from any point in the  
room. Then Stick pulls out the ninja stars. This is followed by darts.  
In the meantime Genma continues to teach him in art of his family.  
  
Genma still fights in the local matches but most of his money comes  
from the jobs he does for the local mob. As long as he can keep Ranma  
fed though, he is alright with what he has to do. Besides, soon he'll  
have enough spare money to pay their trip back home and he won't have  
to worry about such things again. He's proud of the progress his son  
has made in the last little while as he seems to be back up to his old  
standards, learning at a speed that Genma can barely comprehend, and  
reacting with reflexes that almost rival his own, even at such a young  
age. Genma doesn't realize that Ranma can react so quickly because he  
can read his father's moves almost before he makes them with his  
enhanced senses.  
  
**********************************************************  
  
The nights are his favorite time. He'll wake up before sunrise and  
Stick will be there, waiting. They'll go up to the rooftops, and up  
there, alone with the night, they'll dance. Running from rooftop to  
rooftop, jumping and flipping. Somersaulting across the gulfs between  
roofs. All the while he finds a strange joy in the freedom the roofs  
provide.  
  
Sometimes they fight across the house tops, mighty battles that range  
for blocks in all directions, using moves that would make many martial  
artists cry with envy. Sometimes train, throwing objects back and  
forth while jumping from roof to roof in a perverse form of catch.  
Usually though, they just dance, reveling in the night air, the  
silence and the joys of the air.  
  
**********************************************************  
  
Genma Saotome jogs down the street, caught up in his own thoughts. He  
wonders where it is that Ranma goes all the time, especially at times  
like this. This isn't the first time that he has woken up for his  
morning jog to find his son gone, but he normally just shrugs it off,  
figuring that Ranma has gone off to train some more. He must be  
training on his own after all, Genma realizes, he knows that he is a  
good trainer but even Genma can't convince himself that his boy's  
progress is all due to his teaching. No one could get better as  
quickly as Ranma has just on the training Genma has recently been  
giving him.  
  
So caught up in thoughts of his son is he that it takes a moment  
before he realizes that a can has pulled up beside him. Realizing whom  
it is that is most likely within the car, Genma sighs to himself. He  
hadn't heard from his boss in the mob for a while now, hadn't gotten  
any new "assignments" for long enough that he had hoped that he had  
seen the last of them.  
  
The window of the car opens up and Genma stops running and looks  
towards it. The man looking out at him is well known to him. The dark  
skinned man with black hair, white at the temples and a cigar hanging  
out of his mouth. The man who calls himself "The Fixer".  
  
"You shouldn't push yourself so hard Genma, you're not as young as  
you used to be." The Fixer says, smiling benevolently. Genma scowls  
slightly but keeps any thoughts he's having to himself.  
  
"I could run around this whole damned city and you know it Fixer."  
Genma responds, earning a soft chuckle from the man in the car. "I  
assume you have another job for me?"  
  
"Not quite, Genma. I have something a little different in mind this  
time." Fixer says, smiling evilly and causing Genma to shudder  
slightly despite being warm from the run. "It seems that people see  
you as something of a titan, an unbeatable fighter and that's going to  
make me a great deal of money. Especially when you take a fall in  
tomorrow's fight. The usual warnings apply should you not head my  
'advice', of course. Have fun tomorrow."  
  
That said, the window rolls up and the car drives off leaving Genma to  
scowl at it as it leaves him behind. He stands there for a moment,  
glaring at the receding vehicle before he lowers his head and, not  
knowing what else to do, continues with his jog.  
  
**********************************************************  
  
The fight is probably the most exciting that any Genma fan has seen in  
ages. The man that he is facing is actually standing up to him,  
getting hits in where no one else has in so many fights. People cheer  
as the two trade blows back and forth, blood flowing down both their  
faces and spit flying with each successful hit. The only one in the  
audience who isn't cheering is the only one whom Genma really cares  
about, his son. Ranma sits there, "watching" the fight impassively and  
wondering why his father isn't destroying the horribly slow fighter he  
is facing.  
  
The bell rings and another round comes to an end as the two fighters  
sit down in separate corners, resting up for a moment as their helpers  
mop the sweat and blood from their faces. Genma just sits there,  
waiting for the bell to signal the start of the nest round, waiting  
for the Fixer's man to tell him when to proceed. He doesn't have to  
wait long for the second.  
  
A shady-looking man with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth sidles  
up next to the ropes on Genma's sided of the ring. He looks Genma up  
and down for a moment before speaking.  
  
"It's time. Just give him a nice, easy opening and go down. Don't do  
anything stupid, remember your boy." Genma looks at the man for a  
moment before lower his head and shaking some of the liquid off. He  
then glances out into the audience to where he can see his son  
listening to someone explaining what's happening in the fight to him.  
When he looks back towards the thug there is a fire in eyes that  
wasn't present a few moments ago.  
  
"My son is exactly who I'm thinking of. My son and one of the only  
truly important things I taught him. Never give up, a Saotome never  
loses." With that, the bell is rung and Genma stands once more to meet  
the other man. They bow slightly to each other out of respect and the  
referee signals them to begin. His opponent leads with a quick two-  
punch combo, which he easily evades. He ducks the first punch and  
brings up his arm to deflect the second before throwing several  
punches of his own, all of which connect with devastating results.  
Spit and blood mix as both fly from the other fighter's mouth, as his  
head twists about and his body collapses out from under him like a  
puppet whose strings have been cut. The crowd goes silent as the  
referee counts out loudly to ten, before holding Genma's hand up and  
announcing him the winner.  
  
In the back of the room near the door, the Fixer stares angrily at the  
ring before he signals the dozen men with him and they all head out  
the back way.  
  
**********************************************************  
  
Genma walks out the back door, his bag over his shoulder and his head  
down. He finds himself strangely calm, knowing as he does what's about  
to happen. He steps out into the calm alley and looks up at the dozen  
or so men arrayed behind the Fixer. The Fixer has an ugly looking  
scowl on his face and Genma can't help but smile slightly thinking of  
how much money he has undoubtedly cost him this day.  
  
"You're tired, Genma. Tired, hurt and outnumbered. Not even you can  
fight all of them. Just give up now, it'll be easier in the long run."  
The Fixer smiles that cocky smile of his, the one that says that  
nothing you do will make any difference at all, that in the end, he  
will win. Genma knows that he can't win this fight, knows that the  
Fixer is right, but as he told his son, you never give up in a fight  
or you've lost before you've begun.  
  
The first two men go down easily to Genma, one falling where he stood  
while the other made a meaty thwack against the far wall. The third  
one managed to get a good hit in before he too fell to Genma,  
receiving a roundhouse kick to the side of his head. The fourth man  
however manages to get a hit to the back of Genma's head with the bat  
he carries and the fight goes downhill from there. The men overwhelm  
Genma's tired defenses and within moments have him on his knees,  
beating him mercilessly with fists, feet and various weapons. One man  
uses a knife to carve up Genma's face, leaving blood to fall to the  
ground, pooling at his feet. Finally all the men step back and Genma  
merely kneels there on the ground, too hurt and too exhausted to move.  
  
The Fixer steps forward, one hand reaching into his jacket and pulling  
forth a rather impressive looking revolver. Genma just stares ahead as  
the Fixer steps in front of him and lifts his head, opening his mouth  
to shove the barrel of the gun violently inside.  
  
Genma's eyes flick to the Fixer's and he sees the smile on the Fixer's  
face as he cocks back the hammer.  
  
The trigger is pulled, the hammer falls and the deafening sound of  
thunder fills the alley.  
  
Genma Saotome falls.  
  
To Be Continued......  
  
Authors Notes: I got this idea while reading some of my brother's  
Daredevil comics(Ahhhh, brother's, always a good source of comics to  
read^_^). I don't think I've ever come across a fic with Ranma in Matt  
Murdock's shoes so I thought I'd see what would happen. This is  
actually based very much off of Frank Miller's "The Man Without Fear"  
five-part mini-series, which I'd highly recommend to anyone who hasn't  
read it. It ranks up in my top ten all time favorite comics(along with  
at least three other of Miller's works, the best of which will always  
be "The Dark Knight Returns" for anyone who cares). Please don't flame  
me if you notice dialog that comes straight from the original comics,  
since I'm admitting right now that I did in fact use some, especially  
when he first meets Stick, but I did try to change most of it to be as  
original as possible. Things will change more as the series goes on  
and Ranma heads back to Japan, but it'll still be heavily based on the  
events in the mini-series. As always, C&C can be sent to me at  
ranikkoku@hotmail.com or in the guestbook of my website where this  
will be archived as soon as I get around to it  
www.geocities.com/ranikkoku  
Thanks  
Bob The Mutant Lobster 


End file.
